Daily Yellowstone journal., 1887-03-08
A SERVANT LASSIE.

Tor a that there will be servant lassies in
heaven just as well as Draw folk The
poor were never despised by Him when
He was on earth.
Helgho! lhayena written half n dozen
Lines o my story yet, and I'm sadly con-
scious that I've made blunders already.
] mean To write il a in English, and il
bit Scotch wordie does tumble in moo
and again I'm sure you'll forgie me.
When l warm to my work Ill get better
on. This is the way wi a Scotch folk;
when no excited it's their own broad
Doric they speak, but my conscience, il
you once put up their birse it's as fine
sounding English they'll speak as any
southener that ever stepped in shoe
leather.
My name is JEANNE, JEANNE Mclean,
that's it a thegither, or complete as
ought 10 say. From far, far north the
Tweed l come, ay, and north the Dee as
well. As far west as the train can pene-
trate among the Donside hills, on q bon
ME braehead, among bonnie green knobs,
among woods o. dark waving fir and
spruce, lighted up here and there wi the
tender green of the feathery larch, and
begirt wi hands o. yellow broom and
gowden fGrAe, there stood my fathers
humble cot. And every night cf my
happy young life used to be lulled to
deep by a sound like waves breaking on
Q shmsly beach; for, il ii want the
wind whispering and moaning through
the trees, il was the incessant hurtle o.
the Don rushing on over the pebbles and
bowlders. So near were we 10 the river
that dear Johnnie could throw a stone
right over it. A strong, strong arm had
Johnnie. Johnnie was my only brother,
and never had sister.
Ny mother died when Johnnie and /
were SO young that neither of us could
remember her, and Grannie kept my
fathers house. Dear auld Grannie. with
her clear caller, canty fac, and her busy,
happy ways, it is years aso since she has
gone to her long hame in the auld kirk
yard. She aye had Pleasant smile for
Johnnie and me, and Used TO tell us old
world stories in the long forenights o
winter.
Imaginesis, il you can, gathered round
that Scottish country iireside. great fire
Of peats and wood is Glazing and cracking
ON the hearth-there is no other light.
At one corner sits my father in an easy
chair, his days toll is past and his pipe
Is alight at the other is auld Grannie,
and click, click, click, click. 20 her knit
ting wires as she tells her tale, Johnnie
and l complete the circle: our ewes are
riveted on Grannie's face. The smoke
goes curling up the wide chimney, the
blaze sometimes following yards high,
the wind without is roaring and whist
ling round the house, shaking doors and
dindling windows: but il makes US feel
al the snugger within. Just creep
closer to Johnnie, lean my head Oh his
shoulder, and listen.
BY and by Grannie stops speaking, and
for while the wind has it all its own
way; then my father rises solemnly and
puts his pipe away in the wa hole.
''Bairns let US worship God" he
says.
Grannie lights the black oil lamp. with
its dried rush wicks, and father takes the
Book. He reads chapter, then, 10 the
half mournful notes Of some such time
as Martyrdom, we sing, perhaps The
Lords Ny Shepherd"
There was always plenty to do. and
Johnnie and | were never sorry when
Sabbath came. sabbath and . long
wall to the wee bit kirk on the h.l! bead,
where in earnest and impre save voice our
good minister would point the way 20
happier spheres; he never failui 10 breathe
words of comfort for the weary. ConsOla-
ton Tor the bsreaved, and hopss Of future
JOY for all.
Never a Sunday passed that Johnnie
and did not linger behind. till all the
other kirk folk had passed away out and
bomewards. then we would go quietly
round and visit mothers grave. This
was not all sentiment, both Of us loved
mother. though we hardly remembered
seeing her. But her mortal remains were
there in that auld kirkyard, and they
would rise again. such was our simple
faith and We never looked upon mother
as dead, but as saint in heaven, she
could see us, we thought, nav, might
even be permitted to watch over u.s. and
lovingly guard and befriend us in trial
and in danger. She saw us each Sab
bath then. as we bent low and touched
the grassy knoll and laid thereon our Of
ferings Of flowers. Humble enough
these might be. but in spring there were
the sweet scented yellow primrose and
sprigs O crimson may, in summer there
were always rich buttercups and rich OK
eyed daisies. and hundred wild flowers
from hedgTow and copse; even winter
brought its garlands Of red rowans and
its evergTeens. 50 all the year round
mOtlsers grave never wanted belnty.
That OH churchyard and the wee bit
kirk. ] have but 10 shut my eyes and
tbey ris up tefore me. What though
the kirk isylf was steepleless. the bell
devoid u MUSIC, the grass long and
green on the graves. and after rain look
ing as though il had been combed down;
what though the tonbStones were gray
and lichen clad, and Ieant Ia eyerydirec-
ton except the right one-nother' grave
vas there.
You English maids may laugh at me,
but ah! you little ken how dearly we
Scotch mountaineers love our wild
homes; besides, you know-Im only
simple servant lassie.
Our Johnnie could play the fiddle SO
sveetly. It was the merry airs aud
0rannie liked the best, but there was one
thing that Johnnie used to play and sing
that never failed 10 bring the tears to my
eyes at least; though somehow il was
sweet kind Of melancholy 1t inspired, and
neither grief nor melancholy ever injuries
the heart IL tears can flow.